


Pennies and Ladders

by weeklypants



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A bit of mystrade, Butts, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, First Kiss, Fluff, Gen, Kid Fic, Kid John, Kidlock, M/M, Red Pants, anything with a straw is enthralling, mycroft is fat, sentient pants, sneaky shower attack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weeklypants/pseuds/weeklypants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirteen-year-old John and Sherlock are neighbors and best friends. That last part is about to change. Lots of cuddling and fluffiness <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John stood looking out his window, his elbows resting on the sill. It was evening, so he couldn’t see very far, but what he was watching for would be close.   
  
The lights of the top floor bedroom next door turned on, and a dark figure approached the window.  
  
John reached down next to him, picked a penny up off the floor, and threw it.  
  
 _tack_  
  
The window flew open, and a young boy poked his head out, scowling. John grinned,  
  
“John! How many times have I told you to stop throwing money! Do you not realize that I can see you from across my bedroom, staring at me?”  
  
John grinned. “Evening, Sherlock!” He waved.  
  
Sherlock gestured briefly at the slim strip of grass and fence that separated their houses. It was littered with coins. “There ought to be at least ten quid down there!”  
  
John sniggered, “So can I come over then?” He asked, leaning further out the window, “Or do I need to start tossing fivers?”  
  
Sherlock sighed, then bent down, and John smelled victory. When he stood back up, he was holding their ladder--They had pooled their allowances for weeks to afford it, but it made their secret meetings and late night chats much more covert.  
  
The short, metal ladder was scooted across the space between Sherlock and John’s rooms, and John scampered across eagerly. He hopped nimbly through his neighbor’s window and stuck his landing.  
  
“Now then,“ he started, “I have something to show you!” He rummaged through his knapsack and pulled out two copies of the “Doctor Who Adventures” magazine. He showed them to Sherlock. “What do you see?”  
  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “False covers, obviously. Neither you nor I watch Doctor Who and even if you did, why would you purchase two of the same magazine?” he turned his head sideways and looked at the corners of the pages. “Yes. False covers. But what for? What is worth hiding?”  
  
The blonde set the magazines down and looked at his friend seriously. “Sherlock. We are thirteen years old and the only ones in our class, it seems, that have yet to see a girl naked. So I borrowed these--” He waved the magazines about-- ” from Greg. I haven’t looked at them yet, so what do you say?”  
  
Sherlock steepled his hands. “The only ones? That hardly seems likely.” He paced over to his clock, staring at it as he spoke, “I _am_ curious... although this method seems a bit inelegant. Only looking, right John?”  
  
“Only looking.”  
  
Sherlock took a magazine. “Okay.”  
  
~~~  
  
The two sat on Sherlock’s floor and slid off the fake covers. They both stared a minute, blinking at the woman on the cover. She was squatting down with her back to the camera, her high heels on a wooden surface: a desk perhaps. She wore black lingerie and far more makeup than either of them were used to seeing. John swallowed thickly, then turned to the first page.  
  
A well-muscled man held down the woman from the cover, her chest pressed against-- yes, it _was_ a desk. Her mouth hung open and her back was bowed under the pressure of the man’s hands.  
  
They both stared, afraid to turn the page. Sherlock made the first move, then shut his magazine a split second later.  
  
John stared at the distraught expression on his face. “What _is_ it, Sherlock? Should I not look?? Is it gross?”  
  
Sherlock turned his back to him, then promptly lay face down on the carpet, refusing to answer.  
  
John took a deep breath and flipped to the picture that had had such strange effects on his friend.  
  
It was a two-page spread from the man’s point of view. His fingers were buried deep inside woman on the cover, and she was flushed pink all over. John’s own blush was up to his ears. _oh. oooohhhhhh._  
  
“Ungh....That’s... this is...Sherlock, look at this!”  
  
The dark haired boy stirred. “No, thank you, John. I’ll stick with the first page, thank you.”  
  
John sighed and tossed Sherlock his magazine and Sherlock, true to his word, turned to that very first picture and sighed.  
  
John continued flipping through his copy, making comments about what he was seeing to Sherlock; he didn’t want his friend to miss out.  
  
“Oh, in this one, he’s fondling her breasts. They’re very large.”  
“Fascinating, John.” Mumbled the unenthusiastic Sherlock.  
....  
“Oh, now she is sitting on his lap and... oh. They’re.....”  
“That so?”  
....  
“This one’s interesting. The left page is just a picture of him cumming. But the _right_ page is her cum-splattered face!”  
“What???”  
Sherlock snapped out of his nodding trance and sat up, leaning over John’s shoulder to stare.  
  
“What?? John! _ugh,_ that’s just.. this is...”  


“Yeah, I _know,_ Sherlock! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time! Look at her face! She is just _soo....”_  
  
“Oh,” said Sherlock. “Oh.” He stood up and sat at his desk, pretending to sort through notes. John stood and went after him.  
  
“What is it now? Why are you avoiding me suddenly?”  
  
“I’m not avoiding you. I’ve just remembered that i need to organize my desk...”  
  
“You organized your desk yesterday. Tell me what the matter is.”  
  
Sherlock was blushing all the way around the back of his neck. But he stood again and held John by the shoulders, looking him seriously in the eyes.  
  
“John.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I... don’t like girls.”  
  
“That’s okay, Sherlock. Maybe you just aren’t ready for these kinds of magazines. Sorry I pushed you into it. “  
  
“No, John. I’ll never be ready for _those_ kinds of magazines because I never _will_ like girls.”  
  
“Oh.” John looked Sherlock up and down, like he was assessing him somehow, “Boys then?”  
  
Sherlock scrunched his eyebrows together, “No. Not boys.”

  
“Then what? You don’t like anybody?”

  
“Not boys. Boy.... Only one. “  


He went back to feverishly shuffling through his desk. John stood over him, just as flushed as Sherlock.  
  
“Well, that’s okay.”  
  
“I know it’s okay.”  
  
“Right... so who is it then?”  
  
“You.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“ _Oh.”_ repeated Sherlock.  
  
John stared for a minute; he watched as Sherlock tried to hide his discomfort, his disappointment, his worries. Then he leaned in and wrapped his arms around his best friend.  
\----  
  
Sherlock gasped. “John, you shouldn’t... I mean you don’t have to...”  
  
“I don’t have to what?” He replied, hugging Sherlock’s shoulders a little tighter.  
  
“If you keep hugging me like that, you’ll give me reason to think that _maybe_ you could like boys, too...”  
  
John pulled away from him and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t like boys, Sherlock.” Sherlock’s heart sunk. “But maybe I could like... boy.” He held his hand out to the grey-eyed boy in what would have been an unbearably cheesy gesture if it didn’t make Sherlock’s stomach’s defy gravity. He took John’s hand, and John pulled him up, out of his seat and into a crushingly tight hug.  
  
Sherlock hugged back, nuzzling into John’s neck and inhaling deeply. John’s smell.  John’s arms. Johns chest. John’s heartbeat. Being held like this was paradise. Sherlock relaxed and let himself be hugged, eventually hugging John back.  
  
When John slowly pulled away it was torture. It took all of Sherlock’s willpower not to follow those warm arms. But then John’s hands were holding his face and John’s lips were on his lips and everything was paradise again and Sherlock sighed into the kiss. It was chaste and sweet, but it sent shivers down his spine nevertheless.  
  
When they parted, John looked into Sherlock’s eyes.  


“Was that your first kiss?”  


“Yes. And you?”  


John cleared his throat. “It was mine as well.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
They stood smiling shyly at each other for a minute before John glanced out the window. Then at Sherlock’s clock.  
  
“Sherlock, it’s getting late.”  
  
“Yes. I should sleep.”  
  
“I don’t want to go home.”  
  
Sherlock placed a hand on John’s chest.  
  
“And I... don’t want you to leave.”  
  
John leaned in and kissed his cheek.  
  
“Then can I sleep here? And can I hold you all night?”  
  
Sherlock blushed, then smiled. “Yeah.”  
  
~~~  
  
John borrowed a pair of pajamas-- they were simultaneously too long and too tight, but he didn’t care because Sherlock was already laying in bed with the covers up to his chin, waiting for him.  
  
John crawled in on the other side of the bed, then scooted over to his friend ( _boyfriend?)_ and put a hand on his side as Sherlock rolled to face him, smiling.  
  
“Thank you, John”  
  
“Anything, Sherlock.”  
  
And John wrapped Sherlock up in his arms, pressing his nose into the wild, dark curls, and slept.   



	2. 2 Pence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more snuggly fluff and a bonus scene.

Sherlock sat under his window and waited, listening, for the familiar “ping” of a penny hitting his window. John had just come home from rugby and sherlock couldn’t wait to see him. He snuck a peek over his window sill and peered into john’s room--he ducked back down quickly-- John had just entered the room and had his back turned to the window. Sherlock held his breath.  
  
 _tack-a-tack  
  
_ Grinning, he poked his head up and waved over at John, who looked at though he might have just pissed himself. He laughed at John’s startled expression and turned to grab the ladder.   
  
John burst into laughter-- _had Sherlock been waiting for him under his window?_ His chest tightened at the thought and he felt a familiar rush of affection for the boy. The soft _thunk_ of their ladder on his window sill brought him back to reality and he wasted no time in climbing across and into Sherlock’s room.   
  
“Hi, ‘Lock!” He said, and trotted over to his friend, pulling him into his arms.  
  
“Hehe! Hello, John.” He greeted as he nuzzled into John’s neck, giving it a shy little kiss.  “How was the park?”  
  
“Fine. The weather’s been nice.” He answered distractedly, because what he really wanted to say was-- “Sherlock?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Were you waiting for me to get home?” he whispered into his hair.  
  
“Yeah.” Sherlock murmured back. John sighed and ran his arms up and down Sherlock’s back, as if confirming that _yes_ , he was still there.  
  
“Y’know, there’s no need to make me waste my pennies: I always leave my window open--” Sherlock knew that--“you could use the ladder and wait for me in my room... I mean... if you want to...” 

 

Sherlock was intrigued. He’d always liked spending time in his neighbor’s room and what was more: It _smelled_ like John. When John got home, Sherlock could be right there to greet him. And when John _wasn’t_ home... Sherlock shook away his impure thoughts and looked at his favorite person, “I would like that, John.”  
  
John kissed him--properly this time--with just a hint of tongue that both startled and delighted the curly-haired boy. John took Sherlock’s hands and guided him to the bed, where they laid down on their sides facing each other.   
  
Sherlock giggled, which set John off and for a few minutes they were a giddy mess: eyes scrunched and noses just touching.    
  
When they calmed down, they smiled briefly at each other, their hands still entwined and resting between their chests.   
  
“John?”  
  
“Yeah, Sherlock?”  
  
“Do you truly like me? As more than a friend? I.. I mean...” Sherlock trailed off and peered shyly at John, who tightened his hold on Sherlock’s hands and smiled reassuringly.  
  
“You’re my most important person.” He soothed, “Up until recently, I’ve always ignored the way my heart beat just a little faster when you came to the window, when a certain expression graced your face or a clever phrase passed your lips and made something inside me stir.”  
  
“Why did you ignore it?”  
  
John shrugged.   
  
“I see you every day. What would change if I told you how I felt? Especially if you didn’t feel the same way. So I distracted myself with girls.”  
  
“You like girls.”  
  
“Not as much as I like you.”   
  
John lunged at Sherlock then, arms extended, and began to tickle his sides. Sherlock squirmed and howled, swatting at John’s hands “No, John!! No!-- AHAHAHAH! Stoppit, you twat! It tickles!!!!!!”  
  
John was laughing now, too, and the couple rolled about until they were both gasping for breath.  
  
“If I vomit from laughter, It will be on you, Mr. Watson. In more ways than one!” Said Sherlock, smiling.  
  
John wrapped an arm around him, “And I will nurse you back to health, Holmes.” He kissed his forehead and they both flopped back into the covers. To his surprise, Sherlock scooted closer to him. He tucked his face into John’s chest and entwined their legs. John could feel both their heartbeats speeding up, and soon John forgot which was which. He pulled Sherlock in close and held him.  
  
  
~BONUS SCENE!~  


“John?”  
  
“Yeah?”

  
“You’re my best friend.”

  
“Yeah. You, too.”  
  
“And that thing pressing against your leg right now...”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“That’s just a pack of jammy dodgers...that I keep in my bed.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeeee!!! Writing this little sequel was sooo fun! As before, please give me suggestions on where to go next with this!   
> xo pants


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another! This one's not very romantic-o, but it is PLOT. yes.

_Thunk  
_

_“_ nnggg....”  


_Thunk Thunk_

 

“Sherlock!” Mycroft called from the other side of the bedroom door, “Sherlock, get up!”  


Sherlock sat up in bed.  “Stop assaulting my door with your umbrella! It’s not even raining out, you tosser.”  


“Che-! Don’t make me tell mummy! And besides, you never know when it might rain.” he added defensively. 

 

Mycroft was always secretly hoping it would rain, and Sherlock knew it was because lousy weather was an excuse for him to sit on his bum all day. The younger Holmes listened to his brother’s fading footsteps and walked to the window.  
  
John was already dressed and tying his shoes in is room when he glanced over at Sherlock.   


“Still in your pyjamas?” He called across, “Get a move on, ‘Lock, or I’ll leave without 

you!”

  
Sherlock pouted at him.  “I’m hurrying!” 

 

And with that, he was running down the stairs, into the kitchen, where Mycroft sat at the table. Judging by the crusts strewn about his plate, he was on his fifth piece of toast.   


“Fat sod,” Sherlock murmured. 

 

Mycroft glared at him, “I’m a growing boy.” He he said through a mouthful and a half of toast.   
  
Sherlock snagged one piece of Mycroft’s pile of toast and held it in his mouth, nibbling, as he flew back upstairs. He dressed quickly and was out the door while he worked on his last mouthful of breakfast. John was waiting outside his gate and Sherlock padded over to him.  
  
“Morning, Sherlock!” John chuckled at his friend’s disheveled appearance and ruffled his dark, messy curls.   
  
“You _told_ me to hurry,” protested Sherlock.  
  
“Hehe, you _know_ I wouldn’t leave without you,” John mimicked Sherlock’s tone.  
  
Sherlock pouted again. “Actually, I didn’t know that.”  
  
John’s expression softened and he took his hand, squeezing gently, as they headed to school.   
  
~~~~  
  
When the two got closer to the school, they reluctantly dropped their hands and made a silent promise to pick up where they left off on the way home. They soon arrived at the school gate and parted. John had math class and Sherlock had French, so they wouldn’t see each other until lunch.   


As soon as John sat down, Greg Lestrade ran over to him.   


“So?” He prodded  


“What?” Said John.  


Greg leaned in dramatically close and glanced around them, making sure no one could hear, “The magazines” he whispered, “they’re tops, right?”  
  
John smiled, remembering the way Sherlock had blushed when he had first kissed him:

  
“Yeah. Tops.” He whispered.   
  
Greg grinned triumphantly. “By the way, who was the second copy for? A mate of yours?”  
  
John shrugged.  “Sherlock Holmes.”   
  
Greg’s jaw dropped and he stared at his friend. “ _Sherlock?”_ He repeated, “I didn’t know he was interested in... yknow... _people_. It’s freaky the way he keeps to himself-- Except with you, I guess.”   
  
John felt a pang of.. something unpleasant.... toward Greg. Something that felt like _Ireallycouldjustslugyourightnowforsayingthat_ and he found himself fighting off the urge to simultaneously run out the door to Sherlock and beat Greg to a pulp for insulting him. Luckily, his struggle was interrupted when Mr. Cumberbatch came in.   
  
“Lestrade, in your seat!”  
  
“Yes sir.”  
  
John sighed as he watch Greg retreat. He sort of owed Greg, in a way. Those magazines had helped bring him and Sherlock together. He sat through the rest of Mr Cumberbatch’s lecture on the pythagorean theory, feeling guilty and confused. But most of all, just wanting to see Sherlock.

  
  
Speaking of, Sherlock was currently sitting quietly in French class, wandering around his mind palace and spending a little extra time in the rooms devoted to his memories and knowledge of John Watson.   
  
“Holmes.”  
  
His glassy stare evaporated as he locked eyes with Mr. Freeman, who was an absolute joke of a French teacher, but also one of Sherlock’s lesser-hated teachers, which at least made him eligible for correct answers.   
  
“Tell me, Holmes, _quel est votre jour préféré de la semaine?”_  
  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the useless question before answering quietly, “ _Lundi.”  
  
_ Mr Freeman smiled at him, but pushed for a complete sentence, “ _pourquoi_?”  


“ _C’est un secret._ ”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes at their pointless conversation, but was relieved to see that it had satisfied  his teacher, who had moved on, smiling ridiculously. 

  
“Now, class....”  
  
Sherlock withdrew again, steepling his hands under his chin and resuming his thoughts as his classmates gave him bewildered looks. 

  
~~~~~~~  
  
At lunch, Sherlock and John met up at their usual spot under the elm tree outside of room 221. They sat and ate quietly, shoulders touching.   
  
“How was _Monsieur_ Freeman?” John asked, smiling.   


“Dull.” Relpied Sherlock  
  
“What did you do?”  
  
“ _I_ spent the hour in my mind palace. The _others_ learned how to express their love of certain week days.”   
  
“Your mind palace? Why?”  
  
“Because you aren’t in my French class. So I visited my John rooms.”  
  
John laughed, “You have a ‘John Room’?”   
  
“I have a John _Corridor_.” said Sherlock seriously.  
  
John leaned into him, “What’s in it?”  
  
“Everything. For example, the fact that you wear red pants every monday.” John poked Sherlock in the side for bringing it up, “...and that you like it when I do _this.”_ Sherlock leaned in close and flicked the tip of his tongue just inside John’s ear, eliciting a surprised little squeak from the blond. Acting as though nothing happened, Sherlock ducked his head and took a big bite of his sandwich.   
  
“Sherlock!” He whispered harshly, “Not at school!”  


“Hush, John. From the perspective of anyone who may be watching, I might have just whispered a nice death threat into your ear. “  
  
That made John laugh. Soon, the bell rang and the two separated once more to go to class.   
  
Greg, who had been watching from nearby as he ate his lunch, followed Sherlock to English class.   
  
*insert “JAWS” theme here*  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your input is LOVED! Any ideas about where this could go next are LOVED EVEN MORE!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lestrade is an idiot.

Greg was sitting behind Sherlock, his eyes glued to the ridiculously curly back of his head. Pretty boring kid, he thought to himself, he’s barely moved in a half hour. That fact was just beginning to creep Greg out a bit when the bell rang. A bit thankful, Greg stood up to leave, but Sherlock stopped him. 

“Alright, Lestrade. Why have you been watching me?”

Greg was taken aback. He hadn’t expected that he would be caught-- especially not by Sherlock. 

“John told me that the second magazine was for you and I--” Sherlock was glaring at him “I guess I didn’t exactly believe it. I mean-- you don’t strike me as the type of guy who would be interested in... that.”

Sherlock’s expression became contemplative, then, “You’re rather surprisingly astute, Greg. But still wrong: Interested? Quite so. But did I enjoy it? Certainly not. But I’m indebted to you for lending those to John. Thank you.”

He turned on his heel and exited then, leaving Greg to draw his own conclusions (as he already knew Greg would be happy to do).

Gregory Lestrade was inquisitive by nature. He was always the lover of puzzles, the tattle-tale, the do-gooder. He wanted to be a detective when he grew up. Or maybe a police officer. His parents wanted him to be a doctor, but the smell of hospitals creeped him out. For now, he watched people. Especially people who acted as though they were hiding something. John and Sherlock definitely fit the bill. 

On their way home from school, Sherlock and John talked little until they were out of sight of the school. Neither enjoyed the wait, but it made the brief moment of eye contact, the connection of fingers all the more relieving. It was at this moment, every day, that their idle walking sped to a trot, then a run until they reached home,.This made it difficult for Greg, who was following them (of course) to keep up. 

Both boys (and Greg, hiding a few yards away) sighed as they reached their street, slowing down. Sherlock glanced at their intertwined fingers and smiled secretly. 

“So,” began John, “Your house or mine?”

Sherlock pretended to think about it. “Yours.” He said, “Mycroft will have beat us back to mine.”

John nodded and they made their way to the Watson house. 

For the first time, Greg was able to catch up enough to notice Sherlock and John’s joined hands.  
Childish. He thought, Sherlock is perfectly capable of walking by himself. Is John his keeper or something? Realization hit him then and he froze. Sherlock was leaning against John’s shoulder like... like some lovesick girl. And John was leaning back. This was it. The secret. Greg’s heart beat a little faster as the rush of satisfaction of case closed ran through him. It all fit so perfectly together: No wonder Sherlock had always been so strange; no wonder he was so beautifull; of course he would be. Sherlock was a girl. And John knew.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mycroft is fat and Lestrade is awkward.

John led Sherlock into his room, having just finished making tea and plating some digestives, which the two carried upstairs. They sat on the floor and ate, chatting.

“John?”

“Mmm?” He mumbled through his digestive.

“Your friend Greg Lestrade is becoming curious about our relationship.” Sherlock stated flatly.

“What? Greg?”

“Yes. In fact, I believe he’s followed us here. He should be at the door by now.”

Ding dong

John looked wide-eyed at Sherlock, Who shrugged. Sherlock was sure he heard John whisper “brilliant” under his breath, and preened a little at the compliment. 

“Well... What do we tell him, Sherlock?”

“He’s your friend. I think it’s your decision.”

“Then... the truth. Greg is trustworthy, if nosy.”

Sherlock nodded and they descended the stairs together. 

“Oh! Uh... hi....” Sputtered Greg, who was glancing back and forth between Sherlock and John.

“Alright, Greg?”

“Yeah... alright.”

Sherlock spoke up, adopting a bored tone, “How can we help you, Lestrade?”

Greg’s eyes settled on Sherlock, looking him up and down slowly, then came to an apparent decision. 

“I know your secret,” He spoke quietly, “and I know John knows, too.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “Hold on-- you figured it out? How and when? Explain.”

“I followed you two here. I saw you holding hands and honestly, Sherlock, you’ve always been a bit strange.. not to mention your physical appearance...”

John stepped forward. His voice dropped an octave and he approached Greg, “Listen... If you’re here to tell us that what we feel for each other isn’t normal, or that you don’t approve... then save your breath, Greg. We don’t care and we don’t need to hear it from you. “

Greg took a few steps backward and put his hands up defensively, “Woah John! Not that I have a problem with you and Sherlock-- I mean-- I didn’t even know you two liked each other--Sherlock’s really beautiful, good on you, mate!-- But..... you have to admit: this is a bit unusual. How many girls do you know who pretend to be blokes? No ofense, Sherlock.” Greg gave Sherlock an apologetic smile, which was met with a very confused look from Sherlock.

“Sorry, Greg... but do you honestly believe that I’m a girl?”

Greg flushed, “Well... yeah....I mean... and you and John are together, right?” He glanced at John, who nodded. “And John isn’t … doesn’t like blokes, so it makes sense that...” He trailed off and John cleared his throat.

“Greg... usually you’re pretty clever, but are you serious? Do girls sound like Sherlock? His voice is deeper than yours, you dolt!” Greg looked like he might faint. 

“Oh.” He said, realizing the complete ridiculousness of his theory. 

“OH” Mimicked John, before softening his tone. “But... you were correct in your observation that I like Sherlock that way, even if I don’t usually fancy blokes. Sherlock is different.” John blushed and gave Sherlock an awkward half-smile. Sherlock gave him a quick little hug from behind. 

Now it was Greg’s turn to clear his throat, “Uh.... so... sorry for thinking you were a bird, Sherlock.” And sorry I said you were pretty

“Apology Accepted,” rumbled Sherlock. When Greg didn’t leave, John shifted a little uncomfortably, “do you... uh... wanna come in?” 

Greg dithered out, “No! No thank you...uh.. could I have those magazines back? Since... you probably don’t need them...” Greg was so red that John half expected his head to explode from the blood pressure. 

“Er... sure.”

John ran upstairs and then handed the magazines over quickly. 

“Fanks, John.” Said Greg, turning to leave. Five steps later he turned back around, “And... your secret’s safe with me!” He winked obscenely at the couple before jogging off. John gave Sherlock a little hug before turning to go back inside--

“OOF!”

both boys stared into the garden.

“Er... Sherlock? Did that hedge just make a forced exhalation probably caused by pain or surprise?”

“No, John. That exhalation came from a fat chipmunk squatting inside the hedge. Approach with extreme caution. “  
John did, and his eyes opened wide at what he saw.

Mycroft was on the ground, his ample posterior in the air. He groaned pathetically and looked up, his expression one of bewilderment. John shuffled his feet nervously and dove into his “I swear that I’m not actually romantically involved with your kid brother even if it looks like it” speech before Mycroft cut him off. 

“Yes, yes, John Watson, I know that you have a thing for our little Sherlock. About time you realized it, honestly. Anyway, I don’t care what you two do with that ladder or whatever-- just tell me this: who was that who just came by?”

“You mean Greg?”  
“Greg?”  
“Yeah, Greg Lestrade. What about him?”  
“hmmmm...”

Sherlock groaned and grabbed John’s hand to drag him back into the house while Mycroft began to yell after them, “IF YOU EVER MAKE HIM CRY, WATSON, I’LL--”

Sherlock closed the door, leaning against it gratefully and sighing. John gave him a look and they both exploded into giggles. 

“Did you see him-- with his face in the dirt!?”  
“I think he was snogging his umbrella behind the hedge!”  
“I think he fancies Greg.”

A pause.

“Poor Greg!!!!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pssst! I wrote a smut chapter that goes right after this one. find it here:  
>  http://archiveofourown.org/works/820637


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, I've been dealing with some tough stuff. But writing fluff will make it better, right? Right. Have some silly fluff.

Sherlock waited, staring into the window, until he saw John head to the far left corner of his bedroom. He smiled. Oh yes.    
Today Sherlock would finally live out his fantasy of three years: he would shower with John Watson. He continued to grin like a fool as he propped the ladder up onto his window sill and slid it through the few feet of air separating his and John’s rooms. He scampered across and landed silently on... something scratchy?    
Sherlock glanced down at what appeared to be a welcome mat. He laughed silently as he wondered when John had gone out and bought it. 

Then it was back to business: he turned left and headed straight for John’s bathroom. The water was already running, and the door was left slightly ajar. Good, thought Sherlock, I won’t be needing my lock picking set after all.    
This was doubley good news as Sherlock had only recently acquired said lock-picking set and was still utterly crap at it. But he was getting better, really.    
The teenaged boy slipped easily inside the bathroom and blinked a few times to clear his eyes from the wall of steam he had just walked into. It was time for phase two.    
Sherlock undressed silently (as quickly as he could) so as not to alert John of his presence. Soon he was left in just his swim trunks. (Yes, swim trunks. He had come prepared, after all.) 

Carefully, he pulled back the yellow, plastic shower curtain and stepped inside-- right behind John.  
 “Could you pass the shampoo?” He asked lazily. John jumped and spun around.    
“SHERLOCK?! What the hell???”   
“Hi, John.”

“Wha?! Why are you in my shower?” He sputtered.  “I thought you said I could come over any time I liked? Judging by your new welcome mat, it would seem the offer still stands. Anyway, I chose shower time. Obviously.”  
 John just stared at the boy before him: curls limp with water and hanging over his eyes; chest broad and white; swim trunks---er... little blue swim trunks with red birds... Sherlock caught him staring. And shrugged.  “I liked them.”   John burst out laughing at the brightly colored shorts, only mildly embarrassed of his own nudity. Then he passed his best mate the shampoo.   “Thank you.” He squirted a dollop of shampoo into his palm and nonchalantly rubbed it into John’s sandy hair.   “What now?” The boy with the soapy head blurted out.   Sherlock looked affronted. “I was going to wash your hair.”  “Sherlock, you don’t have to--”  “Sorry, perhaps I didn’t phrase that right: I want to wash your hair.” Sherlock stared him down until John sighed and stepped toward Sherlock with a nod of permission.  Then Sherlock resumed massaging the soap into John’s scalp. He had to admit, it felt delightful. Sherlock’s long fingers scraped his skin pleasantly as he lathered John’s hair, and John found himself closing his eyes at the sensation.   “I’ll be able to reach more if you turn around.” Sherlock murmured. John obliged, and hummed happily as Sherlock’s fingers traced little circles in the short hair at the nape of his neck, spreading the bubbles. Then the hands were gone, and John blinked, surprised at the loss.   Sherlock turned briefly to grab a washcloth and soap and brought it carefully to John’s back. Oh. This is nice. Very nice. Thought John as he leaned into the touches. 

Sherlock worked with extreme focus as he washed John’s back, contemplating the patterns of bubbles forming from the soap and then washing them away, only to repeat the meditation. 

When Sherlock reached John’s left shoulder, he paused to inspect the birthmark there. It was light but noticeable and roughly diamond shaped. He traced it’s outline with his finger before rinsing John’s back and placing a little kiss there. John hummed again and stepped under the hot water, letting Sherlock feel his muscles as they relaxed from the warmth and attention.    
Then John turned around and grabbed the shampoo.    
“You’re turn now.”   
Sherlock smiled.    
   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hello! I've written a smutty chapter that goes right after this one! Here is chapter 2 of "Pennies and Handjobs" 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/820637/chapters/1646938
> 
> :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! I'm back from Japan~~~  
> Japan's cool, yo. Everyone should visit it.  
> Here, have a souvenir. Spoiler: It's more teen!lock fanfiction.

Sherlock woke to the sound of the Watsons’ car pulling out into the street. He didn’t know where the family was off to, nor did he particularly care, because today was the day he’d have John’s room to himself. He stood groggily and hoisted the ladder into place before dragging himself into the other boy’s bedroom.   
  
“John!” he called, just to make sure.  
  
No answer.  
  
Sherlock smiled evilly and wriggled under John’s bedsheets for a snooze. He was just leaning back into the lovely, John-scented pillows, when his head hit something hard. He scowled at the unwelcome twinge of pain and dug through the down until he found what it was his head had collided with: John’s laptop.  
  
Curious, Sherlock opened it up and winced at the bright screen, then opened John’s internet browser and clicked the “History” tab.  
  
He didn’t know what he had expected, really. John was, after all, a teenaged boy... so it should come as no surprise that he had been watching pornographic videos-- _for an hour and a half_ , Sherlock calculated--last night. He knew he shouldn’t look, knew he should feel ashamed to even _think_ about taking a look at what it was John had been watching, but he was so curious... it couldn’t hurt just to....  
  
 _oh.  
  
_ Sherlock regretted clicking on the link the moment the video of a pretty brown-haired girl popped up, lips wrapped around an inordinately large penis. Her eyes were closed and she hummed wantonly around her mouthful... was this what John wanted? He almost laughed out loud: _of course this is what John wants, idiot. This is what any normal teenaged boy would want: a pretty girl sucking him off..._

 

Sherlock felt guilty, like he had robbed John of this experience. He wasn’t enough, could never be enough...  
  
“Sherlock, what fresh hell are you doing?”  
  
Sherlock’s eyes shot up to meet John’s. He was standing almost right next to the bed, staring uncertainly at Sherlock.  
  
“Are you watching porn on my computer?”  
  
John leaned in to get a better look at the screen and, realizing the video was familiar, grabbed the laptop away.  “OY! What gives?”  
  
Sherlock just sat there sadly, which got John’s attention immediately. He set the laptop on the floor and scooted into bed next to his friend.  
  
“Sherlock,” He said gently, “tell me what you’re thinking.”  
  
The dark haired boy looked down at his hands, tugging at the sheets, “I’m not enough, am I?”  
  
“Enough what?”  
  
“Enough anything, John! I don’t have breasts and long eyelashes and a plush arse... I can’t hum prettily while i take your cock... You’re settling for me when I’m not really what you want!”  He stared at his hands the whole time and flinched when John touched his face to turn his head, staring intensely into his eyes. “When did I say ANYTHING like that?”  
  
“You didn’t John. I deduced it.”  
  
“You deduced wrong,” he scolded,  and then John was kissing him. It was a kiss that said “Idiot!”  and “what the hell were you thinking?!” And “I adore you” all at once, Sherlock deduced. And this time his deductions  were correct.  
  
John pulled back and looked Sherlock over.  
  
“Long eyelashes.” He said. Then he snuck a hand behind Sherlock and pinched him, “And surprisingly plush!” he remarked, and Sherlock slapped his shoulder. John laughed and ruffled his mess of curls. “You’re perfect, Sherlock. But you’re right, you’re not what I want. You’re ten million times better than what I want, and you’re what I need.”  
  
“Then why the video?”  
  
John blushed. “Research.”  
  
Then Sherlock remembered what John had said in the shower (yes, the shower) once: “The internet has a lot to offer”  
  
John saw the memory flash in Sherlock’s eyes and he smirked at the surprised expression.  
  
“Now, how about you let me practice what I’ve learned?”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special Bonus! SMUTTY BITS: http://archiveofourown.org/works/820637/chapters/1706193  
> Yaaaaaay~


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Butts.  
> Sherlock becomes obsessed with panty lines. I-I just don't know anymore.

Sherlock glanced out the window again.   
  
“OY! Sherlock! I can see you there! Come down here or we’ll both be late!”  
  
Sherlock tensed at having been caught by John and took one final look in the mirror, still not trusting his perfectly normal reflection. 

 

He was almost certain that the lines of the slightly-too-tight Y-fronts were visible through his slacks. While he couldn’t observe any outward indication of his pants choice himself, he couldn’t help shake the feeling that some little pudge of fat on his arse would crop up and give him away. No, if he and John would be matching today, no one must know. He made to remove his slacks and change to his regular pants when John yelled up again,   
  
“You’re in a bloody school uniform! What is there to change? C’mon already!”  
  
Sherlock sighed and decided to leave it. John would let him know if anything looked strange.  
  
The whole way to school, Sherlock continued to obsess over the underpants. Sherlock watched John until his attention was focused elsewhere and discretely ran his hand his hand over his buttock, feeling for any revealing dips in the flesh. He repeated the action until he was sure there was none and yet still he worried. Part of him almost wished John could see--did John know that Sherlock was wearing his pants now? 

 

They dropped hands and continued their usual rout.  

 

Sherlock bit his lip and dropped back a few steps to glance at his best friend’s backside.   It appeared John was used to these pants and didn’t worry about such matters. He didn’t need to: his pants fit properly and his arse was well-toned from athletics. John turned and gave Sherlock an inquisitive look, and Sherlock quickened his pace to return to John’s side.   
  
“What took you this morning?” He asked with some concern.  
  
Sherlock cleared his throat as he decided how to react, “I’ll  tell you later. My house?”  
  
John smiled and clapped his shoulder in what they had agreed was an ‘I’d kiss you, but we’re in public’ gesture. He said, “Alright” and they parted ways as the first bell sounded.   
  
Needless to say, Sherlock was happy to sit down. He felt ridiculous as he realized just how overly-aware of his own buttocks he’d been all morning. Despite the slight embarrassment, however the pants felt _good._ They fit snugly and the knit material made them quite warm.   
  
Sherlock settled in his chair and let his mind wander as Mr. Freeman launched into a monologue about various french pastries or some such shite. 

 

 _John is coming over today._  
  
Sherlock let a little smile spread across his face.   
  
_I can show him just how useful those clothes he lent me have been.  
  
_ He shifted again in his seat and closed his eyes briefly to savor the friction of cloth over skin.   
  
_John’s worn these. John’s touched them. If objects had memory, I wonder what these would remember.  
  
_ It was this particular set of thoughts, this corridor of his mind palace that Sherlock chose to wander that day. And when Sherlock gets like that, you can either leave him to it or risk a tantrum. __  


_~~~~  
  
_ John sat through math class in a daze, remembering the events of this morning. Of course, John already knew that Sherlock was wearing his pants. That had been the plan. What he hadn’t planned on was the amount of enjoyment he was getting from watching his mate squirm. By Sherlock’s behavior in front of the mirror, John could guess that they were a touch too tight, but on the way to school--   
  
John held back a giggle as he remembered Sherlock’s attempt to sneakily fondle his own arse. Oh yes. This had been a good idea. He would pay Sherlock back for all the discomfort after school today.   
  
~~~~~  
So while Sherlock wriggled in his seat to thoughts of sentient pants, John discovered that he may be a bit of a sadist as thoughts of Sherlock’s bottom danced through his head and very soon it was lunch time.   
  
As students filed out of classrooms, Sherlock and John sat under their tree and ate. Well-- John ate. Sherlock sipped at a juice box and fed his lunch to John.   
  
“You should eat more.”  
  
“Eating is boring.”  
  
“And yet drinking juice boxes is enthralling?”  
  
“Anything with a straw is enthralling.”  
  
That was the extent of their conversation, as both boys were still lost in their own bizarre, dirty thoughts.   
  
Greg jogged over, looking like he had something he wanted to say. Then Sherlock finished his juice box and the gurgle of not-enough-liquid-for-straws-to-work evidentially frightened Greg because then he ran off. John took note of a rustle in the bushes nearby followed by a plump blur with an umbrella chasing after him and glanced at Sherlock, who wrinkled his nose in disgust.   
  
When the bell range, John clapped Sherlock on the shoulder again and Sherlock leaned in to whisper another ‘death threat’ (briefly snog his ear) before they parted ways.  
  
SPECIAL BONUS  
  
You can probably imagine how the rest of the school day went.   
  
John’s brain: _Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock’s arse in my pants. Sherlock’s butt is much bigger than it looks.  
  
_ Sherlock’s brain: _My arse. These pants are squeezing me quite pleasantly. It’s hot because John doesn’t know.  
  
_ John’s brain: _I know he’s in my pants.  
  
_ Sherlock’s brain: _What if they could talk? Would they sound like John? I think they would._  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway. My lava lamp has a bubble in it that looks like a penis now and there’s no way I’m going to write anything else noteworthy about S and J’s school day. Next chapter is a bit of Mystrade! Stay tuned!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mystrade bits!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised. Albeit a bit late. Must thank my dear readers for all the encouragement!

The lunch bell rang just as Mycroft caught up to Greg Lestrade who turned, startled, at the slightly plump, winded lad behind him.   


“Er... you alright, mate?” Mycroft quickly righted himself and assumed what he thought would be a nonchalant posture, leaning on his umbrella.   


“Gregory Lestrade, was it?”  


“Greg. Sorry, who are you?”  


“Mycroft Holmes. I believe you’re acquainted with my brother.”  


“You’re Sherlock’s brother? Then... you’re a year older, yeah?”

 

“An excellent deduction, Greg.” The name felt odd on his lips-- to familiar, perhaps, 

 

“Actually, my brother is the reason I’ve come to speak with you today. It would seem he was more than a bit rude to you last week when you came by our house. “  


“Honestly, mate, I think I was the one who was ‘more than a bit rude’...”  


“Nonsense. He didn’t even invite you inside, did he?” Mycroft didn’t wait for a reply, “No, no, that won’t do... Alright, then: come straight over to my place after school. Any friend of Sherlock’s is a friend of mine.” He turned swiftly, flourishing his umbrella (just as he’d practiced) and began to walk off.

 

Needless to say, in true Mycroftian fashion, he immediately fell arse over tit. Greg ran over to where Mycroft was hurriedly trying to right himself and offered a hand.   


“Jesus! Go easy there, Holmes!” Mycroft accepted the hand and both boys grunted with the effort of hoisting the elder Holmes to his feet.   
  
Mycroft had an Idea.   
  
He stood and stumbled, grabbing hold of Greg’s shoulder and wincing, “OW! Buggering--OUCH!”   
  
Greg stumbled as Mycroft’s girth was thrusted upon him, but he got his balance quickly and held Mycroft up around his hips. “Woah, jeez! You okay?”  
  
Mycroft sighed pathetically, “Oh, I’m fine. I’ll be on my way, then.” He disentangled himself from Greg’s hold and took two very  dramatic steps, stumbling hopelessly on the second, and hiding his grin when Greg rushed to catch him.   
  
“No, you’re not. I’m taking you to the infirmary.” He positioned himself underneath Mycroft’s arm so as to support his bad leg as they walked.  
  
“No!” Greg stopped and looked at him. “Sorry, I can’t stand hospitals. I’ll just walk home. I’ll explain to my teachers later, I just need to get home,” he pleaded.  
  
Greg scowled. “You’re in no shape to walk home by yourself, your injury will get even worse!” Greg repositioned himself under Mycroft’s arm and started walking once more, this time, in the opposite direction of the infirmary.   
  
Mycroft helped Greg walk him toward the gates. “What are you doing?”  
  
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll be stopping by your place a bit earlier than planned.”   
Mycroft blushed to his ears and bit his lips to keep from grinning.   
  
They made it out of the school’s gates and were hobbling together down the street when next Greg spoke:  
  
“So your leg... what do you suppose is wrong with it?”  
  
Mycroft flinched. He hadn’t thought that  far into this. “Ehm... I think it’s my knee.”  
  
“Your knee?”  
  
“Yes. I think I’ve... pulled it.”  
  
“You’ve pulled your knee?” Greg gave his companion a look.   
  
Mycroft was blushing fervently, and when Greg saw how red he was, he burst into laughter, still supporting Mycroft as if he hadn’t noticed they were still touching.   
  
This was when the odd, usually stoic Holmes lost it. He tried to hold back his giggles, but they came bubbling up anyway, and for a few minutes, he and Greg were completely lost in the humor.   
  
When the fit subsided, they both had to wipe their eyes and focus on not looking at each other, should the laughter resurface. Mycroft was still smiling. It was nice, having someone to laugh with like this. He could swear he felt lighter than before, then he realized that Greg was still holding him up and smiled at the blonde, who grinned back. Finally, embarrassed, he released Mycroft and cleared his throat.   
  
“So then, Holmes: Why have you faked a pffft.... _pulled knee_ and skipped school?”  
Mycroft’s tongue flicked out, moistening his lips carefully before answering with a question, “How come you came with me?”  
  
Lestrade opened his mouth to answer, then, thinking better of it, indicated the direction of Mycroft’s house and went on walking.   
  
Mycroft followed  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We rejoin our heroes on their way home from school.

After school, Sherlock and John met up at the gate and began their walk home together. Just as was the case at lunch, both boys were nearly silent as they walked. Sherlock had long since given up trying to find any outward visibility of his underwear choice and was now completely absorbed in considering John’s. He glanced sheepishly at his arse: he _was_ wearing his Monday pants, right? Sherlock couldn’t tell, and the ambiguity of it all made his curiosity nearly unbearable. Unconsciously, he held John’s hand tighter and lengthened his stride.   


John noticed their increased walking speed and smiled. No, he didn’t mind the hurry one bit. Soon, they were walking up the steps to Sherlock’s house and John’s heart raced at the thought of impending red-pants-Sherlock-time.  
The younger Holmes opened the door and made a grandiose “come on in” gesture, much to John’s delight. As they stood in the landing, both boys noticed two things simultaneously:   
  
1) Mycroft’s umbrella was lying on the floor, just inside  
2) Greg Lestrade’s rucksack was lying next to it.  
  
Sherlock and John glanced sideways at each other and gave the simultaneous-nod-of-sneakiness before starting up the stairs.  
  
They made it into Sherlock’s room without a sound and closed the door carefully. Then they waited.   
  
They could hear footsteps in the room next door and two familiar voices speaking in muffled, hushed tones. Sherlock grimaced at John, but John duffed him on the shoulder and held a finger to his lips, indicating that they should listen a bit longer.   
  
“ _nrg... Mycroft, that’s...!”  
  
_ Our heros stared wide-eyed at each other before stumbling to their feet.  
  
“ _John, help me get the ladder!”_ Sherlock spoke in a harsh whisper.  
  
They scrambled for their ladder and hoisted it up, pushing it slowly through Sherlock’s window, then John’s, and soon they were standing in John’s room, undiscovered. John closed the window and let out a breath.   
  
“GEEZ!  Thank god we bought that ladder!”   
  
“I told you it was a lifesaver.”  
  
John flopped onto the floor and shook his head, “Do you think they were...Mycroft and Greg were....?”  
  
“John, please don’t bring that up now.” They let out simultaneous full body shivers at the thought. Sherlock sat down, leaning against John’s bed. John was biting his lips, just about to burst out laughing. All it took was one look and the two collapsed into a pile of giggles.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnddd a smutty-bit! Er... more than a bit. It's a bit long, actually.   
> Find it here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/820637/chapters/1926732


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To be read after chapter 4 of "Pennies and Handjobs". Sherlock and John have just had some sassy times, but what's to come after they sleep?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UGH I AM A TERRIBLE FIC WRITER I'm so sorry for the wait!!! I'm in college now. Doing grown-up things. And also writing the fluffiest goop! Uhm... hope it's not too unbearably sweet for you all. Your comments continue to be loved!

Sherlock woke feeling warm and pleasantly sore. He stretched his legs in the bed, rolling his ankles and spreading his toes luxuriously before opening his eyes. 

_Oh,_ he thought, _John’s room._ It was still dark out so he rolled over, still stiff from sleep and collided with a warm, sleeping body. 

The events of the previous evening came flooding back and Sherlock felt his cheeks warm as he nuzzled into John’s chest. John sighed in his sleep and shifted into a comfy spot. Sherlock knew the alarm would go off at 6:30, signaling the coming school day, so he snuggled up to his best friend, gave him a quick kiss on the neck, and let himself doze back off.

John awoke with an irritating cramp in his left arm. He rolled his shoulder and smiled at the satisfying crack of the joint. Then he closed his eyes, prepared to drift back into his dreams....

Something was tickling his nose. He wrinkled it in irritation, but that only worsened the situation. Annoyed, he flung his arm up to batt the piece of fuzz out of the way--

“ _OW!”_

Sherlock bolted upright, rubbing the side of his head and John remembered why his arm was sore.... where exactly his fingers had been. The sleepy boys stared at each other, sitting in John’s bed.

“Sh..rlock?

“What?” came from the mess of curls next to him.

John didn’t know exactly what he wanted to say, “Uhm... how do you feel?”

“Like my best mate just whacked me in the head. How are you?”

John bit his lip, “Er... sorry... I meant, how’s your......?”

 

Sherlock blinked his sudden understanding, “Oh! Um...hold on” he shimmied a bit in bed, frowning in concentration, “It’s actually not so bad at all. A bit sore maybe.”  

John smiled at him, “I’m glad,” then he became playful, “Because the way you were squirming and begging for more~ I was sure you were going to hurt youself!”

Sherlock blushed fiercely, “I wasn’t!--- John!--”

 John was stuck in a giggle fit, but he calmed down at Sherlock’s distress, “You know I love you , you berk!” Now it was John’s turn to blush, realizing what he had just let slip. Sherlock’s mouth fell open a bit and he stared wide-eyed at John.

“God, Sherlock... I didn’t... I meant... sorry. Forget about it.” He made to roll over, but Sherlock took his face in his palms and kissed him squarely.

“Don’t take it back unless it’s not true. Is it true, John? Do you think you love me?”

John was having trouble making eye contact, so he hugged Sherlock close. “Yeah, Sherlock. I think I really do.” It felt weird to say it, but John was happy that he had. It felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders and all he wanted to do was hold Sherlock in his arm forever, but the curly-haired boy wormed his way out of his grip and looked John seriously in the eyes.   
“Did you know I love you too?” It took John a minute to register exactly what Sherlock had just said, and he blinked dumbly. 

“Oh, c’mon, John-- That was obvious! I’ve been in love with you for a good two years at least!”   
“What?”

“Why do you think I’d memorized your underwear schedule? What reason could I possibly have had to insist on sleepovers as often as I did? God, why have I blocked out almost everyone else in my life? ! It’s because you’re everything to me, John. If I can be by your side, it’s enough. If I can touch you, sleep next to you, it’s enough. John, if you were the only person on the planet I could interact with, that would be enough. Do you see? I’m in love with you, you twat.”

“We love each other?”

“We’re absolutely smitten, John.”

“Then why aren’t we snogging each other’s brains out?”  
“You tell me.”

John fisted a handful of Sherlock’s curls and pulled the boy to him, pressing their mouths together and sighing. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s neck and relaxed into the kiss, swiping his tongue gently against John’s lips, eliciting a groan from the blonde. They stayed like that for a good while, then they both got sleepy again. Sherlock looked over at the clock: it was 4am. John gave him one last peck before rolling onto his side, letting Sherlock curl around him, slotting his knees lightly behind John’s own and wrapping his arms around his chest. They held hands and awaited the morning. 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> goes right after chapter 11 of pennies and ladders. No smut-between this time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter... got silly pretty quickly. Sorry.

Both boys groaned at the alarm, daring each other to be the one to turn it off. Eventually, John relented. He reached over a very uncooperative Sherlock and turned the awful thing off, “Oy, a little help?” Sherlock grumbled noncommittally, rolling over to stuff his face into John’s pillows. John heard the telltale running footsteps that signaled Harry’s imminent arrival.

The youngest Watson burst through the bedroom door, barely halting before launching herself onto the bed like some demented breaching dolphin. 

“JOHN UP! MUM SAYS TO WAKE YOU UP.” When she stopped rolling around in the covers, she noticed that John was awake. She also noticed the pile of black curls peeking out of the top of a blanket burrito next to him.   
   
“MUM SHERLOCK’S HERE!!” She screeched in the general direction of the door. Sherlock visibly flinched at noise and sat up, bleary-eyed.   “MUM SHERLOCK’S NAKED!!!!!!!” She got up and ran out the door, down the stairs, and into the kitchen to spread the exciting news. The teens just looked at each other.

“We should probably get up,” John grumbled. Sherlock nodded agreement and the boys were dressed and ready for school in a matter of minutes. Sherlock wanted to skip breakfast, but John insisted so they headed downstairs to eat. 

 

Mrs. Watson was in the kitchen already, preparing Harry’s lunch when she saw the two boys and smirked. Oh yes. Harry had definitely told her.   

“Morning, boys.” She said smoothly, “Sorry about Harry. I never would have sent her up if I’d known we had a guest!” Sherlock smiled his thanks and John popped some bread in the toaster. Sherlock wasn’t awake enough to talk yet, and the two sat in companionable silence as they waited for tea and toast. Mrs. Watson wasn’t good at silence, “So! You’ve been visiting quite a lot recently Sherlock! It’s wonderful John’s found a friend he loves so much!” 

 They shouldn’t have reacted, but the mention of the “L-word” conjured up the still fresh memory of their early-morning confessions. Sherlock focused intently at a spot on the tile floor while John stared at him wide-eyed, face turning impossibly red. Mrs Watson turned from her sandwich-making when a reply wasn’t forthcoming. She put her hands over her mouth, concealing her grin, and raised her eyebrows at John.   

“John? Are you and Sherlock.....?” Harry tumbled down the stairs into the kitchen, dressed in her favorite tutu and wearing toilet paper rolls as bracelets. She skidded to a halt as she expertly read the room.   

“Mum they’re gay. And I’m gay, tooooo~” She sang, pirouetting sloppily. John and his mother both looked at the little girl, mouths agape. Sherlock regarded her with interest.  “And how did you come to that, Harry?” He asked pleasantly.   “I like girls.”

“How old are you?”     
“FIVE AND A HALF!” She announced proudly.    
“Ah. And how did you deduce John and my relationship?”   
“Oh, I deducted it. I saw you snoggeling in John’s room last week.” 

Mrs. Watson cleared her throat, “Erm... alright, Harry. That was very helpful of you. Now how about you go get changed for school?”

“I am. I’m a toilet fairy today.”

Mrs. Watson tried very hard not to laugh. John was less successful. Harry ran back upstairs to do who-knows-what and Mrs. Watson turned her attention back to her son and his guest. “Right then. My son has his first boyfriend! Both of you, congrats!” She clasped her hands together as an idea came to her. “Sherlock, please come over for dinner tonight. I do believe some celebration is in order!”   

“Mum-- I’m not sure if--”  
“--I’d be happy to, Mrs. Watson.” 

John stared at his boyfriend. Since when did Sherlock willingly eat? He raised an eyebrow at the boy, but Sherlock shrugged it off. Later then.

“See now, John! Such a little gentleman. How do you feel about chicken, Sherlock?”    
“I adore it.”     
“Wonderful! I’m going to take our John shopping after school today, so come by around six?”  

John didn’t miss the smirk Sherlock sent him at the mention of “our John” and kicked him under the table. prick. 

“I’ll be there, thanks.” John noticed the time and nudged Sherlock.    
“Well, mum, it’s time to go to school now. We’ll just be off.”    
“Thank you for the delicious breakfast, Mrs. Watson.”

John noticed Sherlock’s plate was empty. Sherlock never cleaned his plate. What fresh hell?   

“Yes, yes, I’ll see you tonight, Mr. Holmes!” She shooed them out the door and waved goodbye as they made their way toward school.   

 

John made sure they were out of earshot when he turned to Sherlock. “What. Was. That????” Sherlock shrugged. 

“We should stay on her good side if we want more sleepovers.” He winked, rendering John motionless. Sherlock kept walking for a few feet before turning around and holding up the breakfast he had hidden in his coat pockets. “Toast?” John grinned and took the toast from him. Then he gave him a soft peck on the cheek. 

“You’re mad.”    


End file.
